


Firsts

by salixbabylon



Category: Real Person Fiction, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-31
Updated: 2006-10-31
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salixbabylon/pseuds/salixbabylon
Summary: For the Bunny Euthanasia Project– virgin bunny.





	Firsts

It was so tight, hot and wet and tight. Fuck, she was just way too tight. And so good. So bloody good. And tight. Orlando barely shifted his hips back and forward, back again, twice more, before his body surged forward, out of control, groaning and coming harder than he ever had in his short life.

A few minutes later he opened his eyes to see her smirking at him. Embarrassment battled with satiation, a Cheshire-cat grin betrayed by a flaming blush.

"Sorry luv," he said, kissing her on the cheek as he pulled out.

"S'all right. I wasn't expecting much for your first time; at least you got it in," she teased.

He shrugged his shoulder, trying to push off the feeling of shame.

She kissed his cheek again. "Really, it's fine."

"I'll make it up to you," he offered, grinning.

"Damn right you will," she said. "You're fourteen; give it ten minutes and you can make it up to me all night."

They both laughed and fell back onto the sheets, tussling. Fifteen minutes later they were both making purring noises which ended with a gasped name, "Rose," followed by a sound smack to the bottom and a voice that sounded suspiciously like their Maths teacher "Get it right, Bloom, or you'll be at it all day," at which they both dissolved into giggles.

*****

Four years later, Orlando sat twiddling a pencil, lounging, comfortable in his seat in the lecture hall.

Today's topic was boring the fuck out of him, something about the differences between Stanislavski and Strasberg. He was so immensely relieved when the two and half hours were over. He loved acting; he hated sitting on his arse listening to someone wank about technique.

He was restless, too, because this afternoon he and some of the girls he'd gotten to know were going to an art museum somewhere for an opening. A friend of a friend was showing some stuff, and even though it was a benefit they all assumed that the friend would manage to smuggle in the two girls and Orlando, who really wanted to see his sculpture.

Later that night Orlando got to make use of some of his new acting techniques, politely gushing about how wonderful the hideous art was. He paused in front of a teapot covered with little babies and vagina bits and fetuses, with a giant breast and nipple as the spout. Since no one was there to see, he made a face and walked away.

He wasn't quite repulsed or anything like that; he certainly liked women, or had liked them anyway. But these days men seemed much more attractive to him and there was certainly no shortage of them at the clubs he frequented. He'd done quite a bit of fooling around, lots of groping, several quick handjobs, and had received a blowjob from some bloke one night when he was on Ecstasy. But he hadn't done much more and never with anyone he knew very well.

Not that he hadn't had chances, of course, but none of the blokes he knew really made him churn with lust, and he didn't want his first time to be a quick fumble in a back room. He'd heard getting fucked could be fairly uncomfortable the first few times, until you got used to it. Unless you were properly prepared. Stretched. Orlando flushed, shifting in embarrassment, thinking back to the look one of the assistant instructors had given him earlier that afternoon... Why did everyone assume he'd be a bottom anyway, just because he was only eighteen?

There seemed to be quite a lot of international artists at tonight's benefit, and a variety of accents could be heard speaking English as he strolled through the collection. Some far-out paintings that just looked like a mishmash of paint caught his eyes, next to some photographs that were random but wicked cool, very intriguing. He stood staring at them for a long while.

An older man with the most incredible blue eyes Orlando had ever seen strolled over and started talking about the art, drawing Orlando out about which photos he liked and why. That turned into a discussion of the paintings nearby and then the sculptures just past that and the elements Orlando _didn't_ like and before he knew it, they'd been chatting for almost an hour and he didn't even know the bloke's name. Or in fact anything about him at all, aside from the fact that his mellow, quiet voice was clearly American.

Oh, and that he was unbelievably fucking fit. For an older man.

Orlando had a momentary shiver, flashing back on his first girlfriend, the older sister of a friend, and how worldly she'd seemed at sixteen compared to his fourteen. He'd rather liked learning things from her, and although he'd not considered it before, an older man could probably teach him quite a lot as well.

As they neared the end of the hall, Orlando was surprised to find himself feeling desperate to keep the man talking. They exchanged names, and then explanations when the bloke, Viggo, turned out to have as odd a name as Orlando did.

"So, Viggo, uh, what are you up to after this? My mates and I are going out, to this one club a few streets up. It's pretty cool – want to come?"

Viggo laughed. "Nah, I think I'm a bit old for that. And a bit married." His smile, full of uneven teeth, softened the blow, but did nothing to dissipate Orlando's crestfallen sensation.

Orlando glanced down to the understated ring on Viggo's left hand but didn't say anything. "Well, if you get bored, come and join us, yeah?" He rummaged in his pockets a moment. "Hold on, I think I've got one of the cards from the club in my pocket here somewhere..."

A few hours later, Orlando was outside, leaning against the club to cool off in the night air after dancing until he was drenched. He let the breeze chill him until he shivered, fending off offers of drugs, scoping out likely candidates for a snog and some groping, who wouldn't get weird and press him for anything he wasn't ready for.

He was shocked into sobriety when Viggo walked up to him.

"I don't know why I came," the older man said in lieu of a greeting.

"Because you wanted to bask in my outstanding personality a bit longer?" Orlando offered.

Viggo laughed. "Yeah, that must be it. I guess I haven't hung around with teenagers in a long while." He leaned against the wall next to Orlando.

"Hey, fuck off, mate," Orli said, giving him a shove. But then his hand lingered on Viggo's coat, leather or suede, something soft and touchable, and so he did. After a moment of stroking Viggo's shoulder, Orlando was brought back to himself by Viggo's amused and very fake cough.

"Are you on Ecstasy?" Viggo asked, giving him a look.

Orlando grinned. "Not yet," he said, pulling a foil-wrapped packet out of his jeans pockets. "Do you wanna?"

"No, I don't think so," Viggo said is a voice gone suddenly quiet. "If you're going to, I think I should go. I can't believe I came here anyway..."

Shrugging, Orlando put the packet back. "Well, you can't go without a dance, mate." And despite much protesting, Orlando managed to drag him inside the club. From there it was just a little more effort to get him onto the dance floor, where Orlando put on a bit of a display, full of good-natured grinding and groping. Just his usual dance style, totally uncoordinated and unsexy, just free-spirited dorky fun. He loved dancing; it wasn't his fault his limbs had gotten so gangly in the last couple of years.

When the song ended and Viggo pulled away, Orlando suggested they leave and go out.

"What, for a beer or something?" Viggo asked. "Sure."

Orlando laughed. "It's gone midnight, mate - the pubs are all closed."

"Right," Viggo grinned. "Forgot I wasn't at home."

Orlando grinned and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, easily, impulsively. "Seems like you're definitely not at home, yeah? You wouldn't do this there, would you?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Viggo's waist and giving him a quick peck on the mouth.

Viggo pulled back. "It's not like that, really. I'm not that kind of man."

Orlando smiled and he shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, how about some coffee then?"

They took off, strolling through the night, talking about art and music. Attraction hummed through Orlando, but it was a steady buzz, not an insistent throb. He thought about class and the assistant earlier that afternoon, and the men at the club who had grabbed his arse and offered to blow him or fuck him in the loo. This was better, he decided. Even if nothing came of it, it felt good, easy, to be with Viggo.

When they got there, the cafe was closed. Orlando bounced on the balls of his feet, trying not to fret at the idea of losing Viggo so soon.

"Hm. The pubs are closed, the cafes are closed, so it looks like it's clubs or nothing, mate. Or we can go back to mine," he added in what he hoped was an off-hand way.

Viggo hesitated a moment. "Sure, why not?"

With a smile of surprised pleasure, Orlando grabbed Viggo's hand and headed for the nearest tube stop. After a short ride and even shorter walk, they trudged up the four flights to Orlando's shared flat. He busied himself with host-y things like taking Viggo's coat and starting the kettle and rummaging in the back of the cupboards for two matching unchipped mugs that his flatmate would kill him for using if she ever found out.

He was just setting out the cream and sugar next to the instant coffee crystals, when Viggo joined him in the kitchenette, an inscrutable look on his face.

"I'm not the kind of man that cheats on his wife," Viggo said.

Orlando blinked at him, sure he'd missed something, and waited.

"Honestly. She and I have talked and she's ok with this sort of thing. Not that I do it often. I know all men probably say that but it's true. We're both bisexual and this is all right," Viggo finished.

Orlando blinked again. "Presuming a lot, aren't you?"

Viggo had the good grace to look a little embarrassed, and he licked his lips, clearly reconsidering whether Orlando's body language and flirting had just been in his head.

"Nah, it's ok," Orlando grinned. "I like how your mind works." He leaned in for a kiss, a proper one this time, and relaxed into Viggo's embrace when this time the older man didn't pull away.

*****

When they met up again, five years later on the other side of the globe, Orlando wasn't sure if Viggo would even remember him, or if he would want to pretend the whole thing had never happened.

Something in his heart soared when the first words out of Viggo's mouth when they were alone were, "I think I offered you a beer last time we met but all the pubs were closed – you interested in one now?"

"Yeah," Orlando answered to all the questions in Viggo's eyes. "I know the perfect pub – it was the first one I went to."

~end~


End file.
